Abraham Maslow

New York City, late 1941. Afternoon light slants across a nearly empty avenue as a small patriotic parade marches by. A handful of Boy Scouts in ill-fitting uniforms carry a faded American flag; behind them a few veterans step in time. A lone flute plays a tune, slightly off-key, its thin notes echoing between brick apartment buildings. On the sidewalk stands a man in a rumpled suit, motionless among the sparse onlookers. Abraham Maslow has stopped on his drive home, compelled by curiosity or perhaps by something deeper. He can hear the distant sound of a radio broadcasting news of troop movements and victory gardens – reminders of the global conflict that has touched every life.

Niklas Osterman BHPRN, MA